


sick, sick lover

by AHLICE



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHLICE/pseuds/AHLICE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh — my sick, sick lover! What has become of you — what can I do? Oh, my sick, sick lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sick, sick lover

**Author's Note:**

> I feel kind of bad for writing something like this, but, yeah, here it is. I hope you all like this?

When he tried hard enough, Harry could almost remember being happy. And he meant _truly_ happy: that pressure that used to build in his chest from containing his inevitable, foolish grin for too long; that constant urge to dance, to sing at the top of his lungs in the shower, at the dining table, at school; those days pressed skin to skin with Anne, listening to her chirpy voice as she whispered lovelies in his ears before sleep. When he tried hard enough, Harry could feel fingers kneading into his shoulders, promising another morning to bleed across the obsidian skies with such confidence that he could feel it, too. Those small, slim fingers prancing across him, threading through his head of chestnut hair, crossing over his red lips and tickling his golden brown eyelashes. Such warmth it brought – the warmth the cold, everlasting years studying abroad at school refused to give. That school that held too many broken dreams of too-young boys, all eyes sullen and sharp with knives that ruined innocence.  
  
Harry's body grew too fast for his mind to even think of catching up. Anne cried, "You're still small, you're still small!" when his limbs extended and the muscles beneath hardened with the lean density that only well-gifted genes could give. Her eyes could still peel off every inch of adolescence from her son until she could find the child with the long-lashed greens that she couldn't help but adore. Gemma continued to shrink until Harry was a head ahead and looked down at her almost too easily for her liking. But Harry was still a child [ "Still my little lad," Anne would say ], still learning all that his life could offer him, and this was the greatest burden his entire family had to face.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"How's my baby boy?" Anne's voice was too far away for it to bring comfort, and so Harry bit bruised lips while tears slipped down his red cheeks and curled the phone closer to his face. The boyish cries of his peers were distant sounds just outside the window of the school phone room; he shivered against the voices and willed everything away but his mum's faded presence. "School must be hard, I'm sure," she continued when her son said nothing in response. "Hard and long, hard and long . . ."  
  
"Mum –" sobbed Harry, feeling disembodied to the husky sound that left his trembling mouth.  
  
" – schools that prestigious are usually difficult, Harry – I've told you this – but you just have to keep it up. Keep everything up, my little lad. We're cheering for you here . . ."  
  
A particularly loud cry poured inside the building from just outside. Harry briefly turned his glassy gaze towards the window. One of the older lads was entertaining the younger, foolish boys by expertly dribbling a football between his lean legs. Harry turned back to the phone holder and let out a sigh as soft as he could. "Home," he began weakly, slowly. Everything was so distant. "Mum, I want to go home."  
  
"I want you home, Harry, but you know about that."  
  
"Mum –"  
  
"You can come visit during break. We all want our baby boy home, Harry."  
  
 _Visit_. His home wasn't his own home anymore. Harry was stuck, foreign, an acquaintance to phone up occasionally and then say quick, hushed goodbyes. More had changed than just his body.  
  
-x-x-  
  
One of the dorm boys snuck in pints, and that was how Harry was coerced into drinking, some. On the floor of a lad's dormitory that he didn't know that well at all, Harry's cheeks continued to flush deeper and deeper shades of pink and wide, green eyes continued to grow wetter as he chugged more and more, not bothering to taste the bitter beverage that sloshed briefly on his tongue before disappearing down his esophagus. The three boys before him were chatting endlessly about something, pints in their own hands, but Harry could hear none of it. Not that he wanted to, anyhow. The alcohol was beginning to rush through his bloodstream, making his eyesight hazy and a little blurred at the edges. But he kept drinking and drinking, even when his stomach screamed _no!_ and his liver begged _please!_ , and even his mind was telling him that it was about time to stop.  
  
More than halfway through, one lad with purposely messy dark hair – an unusual style that Harry was too far gone to laugh about – and scruff on his angled jaw said something to him with a smile, though Harry didn't pay attention long enough to hear. All he did was level his eyes on the earring in the guy's ear, nodded loosely [ no matter if it was a question or not ], and raised his drink to take another gulp. It burned slightly on the way down and for some reason that was funny, so he laughed. By this time there was a hand on his thigh, squeezing and releasing in a weird rhythmic pattern that Harry refused to really notice. But that was before a hand gripped his chin, turned it almost forcibly, and cupped a pinkened cheek before the face beside him grew closer and closer until lips were against his.  
  
Even in the haze of alcohol and an unattentive mind, Harry understood that he was being kissed, and by one of the boys in the dormitory, too, while two other dormitory boys were there, probably watching. He felt a little numb, though, and that was his reasoning for sitting there, still, as a tongue crammed its way into his mouth and tasted the beer in his breath. Another foreign hair grabbed at the curls on the back of his head, pushing him harder against the hungry kiss, and a groan of neither consent or disapproval escaped him. Then he was on his back, shirt being lifted off of his lean torso, and the kiss broke only momentarily as he was completely freed of it. Nothing was working well for the younger lad; his arms felt like dough, as did his legs, and his mind was giving him no leeway as to make his own decision. Instead, the kiss persisted, eagerly, virginal, almost, and with the patience of a child – this was when Harry's large hands found their way on shoulders way too broad to belong to a female and dug its fingernails into the shirt-protected skin.  
  
Finally his mouth was free, and Harry inhaled desperately. His shut his eyes tightly for a moment as voices began to finally fill his previously deaf ears: there were _he wants it_ , and _he's so wasted_ , and even a few _how far – you – can go?_ , egging the other lad on, as he lied there, shirtless and dazed, trying to compose himself long enough to make sense of what was going on. There were more than two hands in his hair, pinning one wrist down [ albeit weakly ], and grabbing at his jeans all around him, moving erratically and foolishly and too fast for Harry to react. "I'm stupid," he thought to himself bitterly, angrily, almost: "I'm a shitty idiot, a shitty idiot, a shitty fucking idiot . . ." This was the moment where he finally realized through his stream of irrational decisions and thoughts that he knew he had no control of what was going on anymore. He was stuck, at the mercy of his equally irrational peers, able only to groan and grumble and maybe throw up, if the alcohol reacted that badly to him in the next hour or so.  
  
"Do it, Lou," a voice stuck with a heavy Irish accent called from closest to the door. Or, at least, that's where Harry _thought_ the direction of the voice came from, but from drinking too damn much he didn't even really remember where the front door to the dorm was. "Just kiss 'em!"  
  
"Look at his face," another said evilly. "He wants it."  
  
Harry opened his eyes enough to stare at a blurry, white roof. Heads of hair danced in his line of sight every once in awhile, but otherwise there was nothing but a bare, bare roof, aside from small, aging cracks. "A shitty idiot," Harry thought to himself once more, and this is when his eyelids shut and tears found their way out from underneath them. There was brief, shocked silence before unintelligible murmurs raised from the dead, low and hushed and panicked, sort of.  
  
"Look at that – you blokes made him cry!" A voice Harry never heard before said. "We gotta stop this now; shit – he's already so far gone. . ."  
  
"Anyone remember his room number?" An almost disappointed lad asked half-heartedly.  
  
"We can't take him back like this – he's gone, gone – keep him in here, Zayn."  
  
" _What_?" The voice that most likely belonged to Zayn nearly shouted. "I can't do that–"  
  
"Why not? You got him in this mess in the first place!" The initial voice of reason argued. "Just keep him here and make sure he doesn't choke on his barf in the middle of the night." Shuffling surfaced next as one of the lads got up. "This party is over. Go to bed."  
  
"Shit," probably-Zayn muttered over and over to himself. There was more shuffling and a door opening east of Harry's slightly-still body. "Fucking _shit_."  
  
Harry heard or saw nothing more.  
  
-x-x-  
  
When walking into the cafeteria, Harry noticed three boys eyeing him with almost guilt in their eyes, and that's when Harry knew who was responsible for his hangover and stolen-kiss and lost shirt a few nights before. The blonde one quickly bowed his head, unable to make eye contact for too long, but the messy, dark-haired lad [ the kiss stealer? ] still continued to glance, along with the older brunette, who looked the most guilty out of all of them.  
  
Harry was surprised when he didn't feel too much resentment for the boys. There wasn't much he felt anymore, aside from hunger and sadness, probably, and resentment was the last emotion on his mind. So – to their surprise – he tried at a smile, and then turned away, hoping it'd be for good.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"You're a sweet boy, Harry, a sweet, sweet, sweet boy . . ." His mum's voice sang in his ears and rang in his head. He leaned against the wall and let his eyes close, feeling light-headed and like a child again, back at home and just about to go to bed. "I love you, Harry."  
  
"How much?" cried Harry.  
  
"I love you more than anything," she cooed. "More than anything, Harry. I love you, my sweet, sweet boy." Tears were now pouring down Harry's flushing face, and he continued to beg while she continued to sing; she sang and she sang until he was reduced to sobs, clutching that phone for dear life – it was his life, his life line, his salvation, his goddamn salvation. "You'll be here soon, my sweet boy, you'll be here soon, and we'll cook all kind of dishes; we'll visit the rest of the family, you can sleep in your mum's bed while you're here, Harry, and we'll wake up early together and cook breakfast. Would you like that?"  
  
"Yes – Yes."  
  
"You'll come home soon, Harry. Soon." And their conversation ended for the day. No matter how many times Harry wiped his face, the tears wouldn't stop coming. They'd just come down and down and down and Harry knew it was because everything was just a lie. A pitiful, pitiful lie that he knew his mum told all the time.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"You say your name's Harry?" Louis Tomlinson asked in the middle of Home Economics. He leaned too close into the younger lad's personal space and rested his elbows on the lab table, a very soft smile playing on his bright face. "You seem too harmless to be here, huh?" Harry said nothing, just remained folded into himself on the wooden stool, and tried at short glances in Louis' direction. "Harry."  
  
Soon the teacher was trying to prevent a fight from breaking out in the back of the class by some rowdy boys, and this gave Louis more leeway to pressure Harry. "I'm Louis. Friends with Niall and Zayn? – you know them, yeah? – I just wanted to apologize." He waited, blue eyes leveled on the side of Harry's face, waiting for him to ask _why are you sorry?_ , but nothing ever came, so he finished with: "For – um – that night. You know."  
  
"Yeah." Harry finally spoke. "No problem."  
  
Louis seemed genuinely surprised. And then he smiled giddily, reaching in even closer in Harry's personal space. "Your voice is a lot deeper than I expected." He hesitated. "Not bad though, mate. Not bad."  
  
Louis was enthralled for the rest of Home Economics.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"You're really fuckin' smitten with that curly boy, aren't you?" Niall teased, digging a finger or two into Zayn's thigh. "Smitten, smitten, really fuckin' smitten." Zayn grumbled a few foul words and shifted away from Niall on the bed, placing an open textbook between them, but Niall slipped the textbook onto his lap and moved in closer. "Just admit it, babe, you're bad at keeping secrets."  
  
Heat filled his cheeks when Zayn thought of that day when Harry was dazed, large, green eyes like diamonds, cheeks as pink as cherries, lips redder than life, just staring up into his eyes like he couldn't understand anything but the shape of his face. And when he managed that kiss – that fucking kiss, my god – his whole world was like something else, something far, something lost but comfortable, too comfortable. Zayn couldn't contain himself; he was itching to see that face again, to pin that long body down and press himself into every inch of skin that he could find. He had to admit he was smitten, trying to gasp for air when Harry took all of it away. The taste, oh my – the taste of Harry's mouth.  
  
"Louis told me he isn't mad, yeah?" Niall elbowed Zayn to get his attention back. "He probably doesn't remember much, anyway. . . Zayn. I'm talking – listen!" Another sharper elbow to the ribs made Zayn snap at the blonde boy, and Niall laughed wildly, clapping his hands together in joyful abandon. "You're too far gone over this lad!"  
  
It was probably true, but Zayn didn't bother to feel guilty about it. "We need him to come back," was his last comment before he scratched at his scruff, retrieved his textbook, and returned to studying. _We need him back_.  
  
-x-x-  
  
Harry counted approximately 22 days since Anne called; it was driving him a little insane. Louis Tomlinson kept him busy in second block, and all three boys continued to stare and observe as he entered the cafeteria with his lunch tray, head low and trying not to attract much attention in a school full of rabid hounds. His chest was completely empty, and it was difficult to sleep or think or breathe with an empty chest. There was nothing to look forward to anymore, and if it had come to that, then what was there to live for?  
  
This was a troubling thought Harry came back to reflect on all day after first pondering it, and it was painful. He showered thoroughly that night, got dressed in his nightwear, and put himself to bed, listening faintly as restless lads ran up and down the hallways with their crazed hollers, free-spirited and not empty in the chest. It was when the sounds died down an hour or two later when someone was shaking his shoulder and forcing him into complete consciousness.  
  
"Wh–a–at?" Harry sighed, peeling his eyes open to blink in the darkness. The figure was hard to see, but, for some reason, Harry recognized it anyway; he stared, tight-lipped and oddly on edge, as the figure stood and stared back. He opened his mouth to speak, but the slow glide of the hand across his shoulder and right beneath his collarbones trapped his voice in his throat.  
  
" _Harry_ ," the voice was painfully familiar. It was the time to fight it if he didn't want it; it was the time to scream and shout and maybe even fight if things got too personal. Harry did not of it. His voice was back, but he chose not to speak. His rigid posture weakened and eventually softened.  
  
The voice had the audacity to apologize before it went in for a kiss.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"I just . . . _did it_. He was gloriously soft and – and – gentle and his moans were so small and long; I just . . . _went for it_. Wow. I just did it. I _did_."  
  
The two other lads leaned in closer and closer until Zayn's was whispering and they could still hear him. Niall's expression was stuck between shock and interest; Louis was both interested and trying to stop the grimace from crossing his face.  
  
"He just . . . _let_ you?" Louis pestered. "Just like that?"  
  
Zayn looked as incredulous as Louis did. "I mean – _yeah_. He didn't say anything at all, he just kinda. _Let_ me."  
  
Something about that really rubbed Louis the wrong way. _Really_ rubbed Louis the wrong way. He wanted to persist and ask Zayn if Harry really _did_ anything back, but he didn't want to seem too interested, as Niall was reacting, so he leaned back again onto his bum and pondered it. Harry never seemed completely there in the first place; did Zayn just, in a way, _rape_ Harry? Louis didn't want to believe it, but it seemed more and more probable as Zayn continued to talk excitedly about his night. Harry just . . . _let_ him. Just lied there and took whatever Zayn had to give.  
  
"We should invite him back over," Niall suggested finally. "If he's as good as you say he is . . ."  
  
And Niall didn't need to finish that thought.  
  
-x-x-  
  
Louis never thought too hard about his sexuality. It didn't really matter what he was kissing, as long as he was kissing, and loving, and loving it, too. So as Harry sat among his two other friends, picking up a pint and nodding as Zayn spoke silent words to him, Louis didn't think much about the fact of their intentions with a male. What he did think a lot about, though, was Harry, Harry and his apathy about Zayn's affection, Harry and his apathy to everything and anyone, really. The younger lad was just sitting there and fluttering his eyelashes, accepting every offer and suggestion without a second thought. Almost like he didn't care what happened to him, as long as something _happened_. So maybe that was why he was here, Louis thought gravely. Maybe that was why he was sent away: to find that lost initiative.  
  
The older lad of them all didn't realize how quickly things escalated until Niall was kissing Harry, open-mouthed and lazy and mesmerizing, almost. Their tongues danced between widely-parted lips; Niall's hand found its place on the place just below Harry's jaw, head tilting just enough for easier access. Zayn watched, completely enthralled, mouth hanging slightly open in awe. Louis was surprised himself – mostly surprised because the kiss from the two youngest boys was turning him on in ways he didn't expect to happen. Sharing had never been in his train of thought until this sight was directly upon him – and a hypnotizing sight it was.  
  
"Harry," Niall said pointlessly along the corner of Harry's lips when they finally untangled their dancing tongues. Both lads' cheeks were flushed, and Niall's clouded blue eyes were trapped in the greens of Harry's, needy and feverish. Suddenly he pulled Harry's shirt over his head with great urgency, tossed it near Zayn's frozen, crossed legs, and picked up with their kissing left off. Almost uncertain hands dragged down Harry's torso and towards the hem of his jeans, where they remained while he played his Harry's tongue.  
  
Zayn was soon behind Harry, groping across his uppermost nipples, and then down to his remaining two, the fact that he had four of them turning him on more than it should. Louis, paralyzed, continued watching as Zayn possessively turned Harry's mouth away from Niall's and kissed him next, this one much more urgent and rougher than the blonde's. He bit, teething and sucking wherever he could. When he pulled back briefly, Harry's lips were a bright red, purple, almost, and his eyes were glazed. Desperate to get the attention back on him, Niall's hand found their way between Harry's legs, groping at a growing erection; Harry gasped suddenly, and then a low moan played in the back of his throat. He rested the back of his curly head on Zayn's shoulder, letter his eyes flutter close. " _Ahhh – God . ._ " His back arched away from Zayn and against Niall's expert hand, jerking when those fingers wrapped around the form of his length.  
  
"You're so good, Harry, so fucking good," Zayn whispered seductively against Harry's sharp jaw, making cute little baby kisses over and over again on the same spot until he was satisfied it got enough love. Louis wanted so very badly to just go over there, just go there to that moaning, arching Harry and touch that hair, or that exposed chest, or anywhere – really – but he was stuck, stuck in his very spot in something between fear and amazement. His two good friends were about to shag this newcomer – this odd and beautiful newcomer with eyes so bright and green, with lips so kissable and red, with a body so long and lean, that it was a shock someone so lovely was here, with the rest of them.  
  
This wasn't possible, but it was. It really was. Niall really was pulling Harry's jeans and drawers off until he was completely naked and exposed to three sets of eyes. Zayn really was holding the younger lad's hips and pressed what was most definitely a clothed erection against his bum. They really were taking turns giving that groaning, begging mouth love. This was all . . . _real_.  
  
And when Louis saw past his attraction, saw past his growing hard on in his loose pajama pants, saw past the superficiality of the situation, saw past the events that played out for the past month, and looked – _really_ looked – into Harry's eyes, he saw nothing.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"Harry, my love, how have you been?" Anne breathed.  
  
"Mum," was all Harry could say.  
  
"Have you been holding all well like you promised your mummy? Have you?"  
  
Harry promised – oh, he promised he was. And when Anne told him she was proud, he felt nothing else mattered. Nothing actually mattered. He pressed the phone against his ear and listened to that silky voice, laced with so much love and care. That voice that lulled him into peaceful slumber. That voice, that voice, my – that _voice_. "I miss you. I miss you, really."  
  
"You know I miss you, Harry. You know."  
  
Harry smiled until his cheeks hurt before Anne saw him off and hung up. He held the phone for a moment longer, hoping – just a little – that her song would suddenly fill his ears again and lift his spirit. But no song, no cute little sing-song, came, and he slipped out of the phone room broken. He walked lazily across the green lawn of the school, hands in his pockets and eyes looking dead ahead.  
  
Louis – who had been waiting 'round the corner – followed almost instantly behind the taller boy, legs turning over quickly to catch up. "Harry," he called, and the younger lad paused, turned to look, and then continued his trek back to the dorms again. "Hey."  
  
Harry purposely slowed to let Louis reach him, and then returned to his normal pace again. "Hey," Louis repeated, clearing his throat. When Harry offered not much of anything, he persisted. "You . . . I mean – are you feeling alright?"  
  
"Never better," was the first sarcastic response Louis had heard from Harry, and the older lad laughed, surprised. Harry, startled, looked at Louis and watched as he did so, and then, an eyebrow raised, asked, "What?"  
  
Louis' laugh faded, and he was left with a grave look, almost. "Nothing. I just thought that – I don't know – I never hear much from you. You're only passionate when you're on the phone." He pointed to the phone room, and Harry's face whitened.  
  
"You were _listening_ in on me!?"  
  
"Not at first! – You just talk too loudly that it's impossible _not_ to hear."  
  
Harry's face faltered, darkened, and then turned back ahead. Louis patted his back in an awkward attempt of familiarity. "It's okay. I miss my parents, too."  
  
Harry wanted to say that Louis wouldn't understand, he'd never fucking understand, but it made no sense, it wouldn't be coherent and leveled, so he said nothing on that matter. "Yeah."  
  
They returned to the dormitories in silence.  
  
-x-x-  
  
Harry woke up to Anne moaning, all sultry and low, "Oh – my sick, sick lover! My sick – si – _oh_ – " and couldn't go back to sleep as he listened, almost too intently, as she continued with her whimpers and groans and moans, and _wow_ , Harry thought to himself, palming the erection that had already begun to grow. " _What has become of you?_ Oh – _ah_." She doesn't stop for almost an hour, but Harry was quickly reduced to nothings as he climaxed only about halfway through, listening to the rest in a daze of euphoria.  
  
"He's sick, isn't he?" Anne laughed as that man lifted her up by her waist and spun her around, grinning at her as she grinned back. "You're _sick_ , Robin, _sick_!" And then he told her _sick just for you_ , and they were quickly laughing, holding one another like the world was a whole other enitity they never bothered to notice. Harry chewed at his cereal harshly, taking open-mouthed bites while Anne and Robin took open-mouthed kisses. "Mine, mine," she said in between, brushing lovely locks of dark brown hair from her face, remnant of a beautiful and unspoiled youth still in her face. "You're all mine, my sick lover."  
  
"What can I do?" Anne asked as Harry held her tightly from behind, new-grown body so lean and tough, like a man's, but not quite, just not quite. It isn't right, it isn't, and Anne told Harry this as she twisted in those long arms and he caught her lips with his, needy and virginal. Not quite, not quite hangs over their heads, it isn't right, it isn't right filling their ears between shocked and desperate gasps in the kitchen.  
  
"My baby boy, my sweet little baby boy," Anne said as Harry woke up in his dormitory bed, cold and lonely and wishing he were dead.  
  
-x-x-  
  
"You're interesting, Harry."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Very. Very interesting, you are. Quite a character."  
  
Louis brushed a hand over Harry's curly fringe, smiled at the soft, silky texture, and let out a joyful laugh. They lied, side by side, naked and sweaty and bare, and Louis felt like he'd seen something Niall and Zayn didn't during their lust-filled threesome. Louis felt like there was a connection there; a connection that he had wanted all along. Looking to his side, at Harry's flushed, smiling face, he felt happy. So happy. This is what he knew he wanted all along, and Harry had seem just as interested. Just as intrigued with Louis' football, Louis' laugh and jokes and soon, bed.  
  
Louis grinned stupidly. "A character – yeah." He continued to brush that lovely, lovely fringe, and whisper sweet, sweet words as Harry drifted into sleep. It's not entirely there, Harry briefly said to himself before slumber reached him, but nothing ever has been.  
  
-x-x-  
  
Louis made Harry promise to not shag the other lads anymore, and Harry – to his surprise – agreed. They sat, as close as they could possibly get, during Home Economics, during lunch, where a confused Niall and slightly heartbroken Zayn watched in the corner of their eyes, and after school, after Louis had a successful game of football against some other boys from the opposite dormitory building. Harry actually felt himself losing something that he had been desperate to lose for years. Something that had been tying him down, keeping him in this hazy, distant past that everyone had moved on from already. Harry felt a small percentage . . . _free_. Wow – Harry thought he'd never feel this way, but his chest was tightening with happiness, almost, and he didn't want to fight it this time. No, he looked at Louis' grinning face and grinned back, full heartedly, because he had plenty reason to.  
  
He had plenty reason to.  
  
-x-x-  
  
" _Mine_ ," Harry sighed, holding tightly onto Louis as they sat, close, in Louis' dormitory, watching a movie that neither really understood the plot to. Louis leaned into his arms, heart skipping a beat at the sudden declaration, loving every second of this. Of _him_. Louis gave Harry's lips little kisses, and Harry returned the kisses until they were meeting each other's mouths harder and longer than their previous ones.  
  
" _Yours_ ," Louis agreed. "All yours."  
  
Harry pressed his face into Louis' shoulder and tried not to cry, but it was hard, because he'd never had someone before.  
  
-x-x-  
  
Louis continued to sneak behind Harry and listen as he spoke to his mum on the phone. His voice was at a frequency he'd never heard it before: all wanton and desperate, absolutely desperate, for something, something Louis didn't understand and never would. But he listened anyway, because it intrigued him; intrigued him in a way that kept him coming back to listen. And sometimes he'd watch through the little window, too, as Harry held the phone for dear life, as Harry cried and rocked himself and smiled wildly, sometimes. There were expressions Louis had never seen, a side of Harry he knew he may never witness. He understood, on those nights, that he never knew even half of Harry that he thought he did.  
  
And although it made absolute sense, since he only knew Harry for 4 months, it hurt all the same.  
  
-x-x-  
  
The days were growing much, much warmer as their break approached, and every once was more antsy than usual. Especially Harry, who couldn't just sit still on some good days. His movements were more animated, laughs more genuine, and when asked by Louis or Niall or Zayn what was on his mind, he'd dreamily say, "I'm going home."  
  
It bothered Louis some that Harry – his perfect lover – was so excited about going home, but those worries would disappear when Harry held him at night like no one else mattered in the entire world. And then he'd kiss that twitching red mouth, look into those greens, outlined by pretty lashes, and he'd not worry at all. No worries, none, just none. Because there was Harry, that beautiful boy, and Louis could say he was _his_ , and Louis was Harry's.  
  
"I'll miss you when Monday comes," Louis whispered against Harry's shoulder during lunch.  
  
"Me too," Harry replied, full halfheartedly, and Niall made an exaggerated gagging noise that lasted a few seconds too long.  
  
"You guys are revolting," Zayn said, half-joking. His eyes flickered onto Harry's before he looked away, pained, knowing full well he lost something [ _someone_ ] to Louis for good.  
  
"Jealous?" Louis laughed, and the boys tried at chuckles. Louis looked up at Harry with his remaining smile, and whispered, once again, "I'll miss you when Monday comes."  
  
Harry's large hand found their way around Louis' waist underneath the table and he smiled back, wordlessly replied, again, _Me too_.  
  
-x-x-  
  
The day of packing and heading back home for the 2-week holiday was insane and bustling. All the boys had their suitcases lined up outside of their dormitory, clearing out whatever they could to take with them. Louis, after packing his own things, helped Niall and Zayn get their stuff together, too, keeping conversation light as they worked. "I'm so tired of this rubbish place," Niall offered as he zipped his large, packed suitcase with a short grunt. "I miss my mum and dad so much."  
  
"You and I both, mate," Louis said distantly as he got on all fours and pulled some old socks from underneath Niall's bed. Zayn walked in with a few bags in hand and looked between the two, watching them work.  
  
"I'm about done packing and my bird is here, so I'm off, mates," Zayn said proudly.  
  
"Perrie?" Niall asked, looking up at his friend. His blue eyes flickering dangerously. "Does she know about curly-hair?"  
  
Zayn's face paled. "No. And it'll stay that way." He nodded at Louis in farewell, who nodded back, wiping his dusty hands on his gray sweatpants. "See you guys after break."  
  
"Until next time," tried Louis.  
  
It was about 20 minutes after Zayn left before Niall was also done with his things. "Thanks so much, mate. You've been a lot of help. Really." They hugged briefly – Niall being more emotional than Zayn – and Louis watched with a pleasant smile as Niall tugged his things out of the room and down the bustling hallway.  
  
Louis hadn't seen Harry all day. There was too much going on and too many people needing help for him to stop by his dorm, so he finally decided he'd check up on the lad. He left Niall's empty room and weaved his way through the hallway, muttering _excuse me_ , until he got to Harry's room. But when he opened the door it was already clean and painfully bare.  
  
He hoped to God Harry didn't leave already. He needed to see him off. He couldn't go away without seeing him at least _once_. Just _once_. Louis rushed out of the room and grabbed his own suitcases before rushing as fast as his short legs could take him through excited boys and down the crowded elevator to the first floor. When he got out and into the foyer room of the dormitories, he could see lots of cars and parents hugging their children just outside. _Shit,_ Louis thought desperately, scanning the crowds erratically. He let himself get pulled outside and into the mess of things, clutching his things and just _looking_.  
  
Finally, when a large looking male moved out of his line of sight to get into a car, he saw Harry's arched back in the distance, smiling at an older woman with dark, dark brown hair largely. Her slender hands were on his face, and her mouth moved as she was telling him something sweetly, eyes full of all this love. Louis continued to watch as they hugged one another a little too passionately, and he could've sworn Harry was crying – sobbing, really – shivering in what appeared to be his mum's gentle arms.  
  
Louis was stuck in place, as people rushed back and forth around him, shouting and screaming and crying and _so much fucking joy_. It was then, when Harry's mum mouthed words to her son, and Harry mouthed words back, face flushed from tears, that Louis realized _why_.  
  
And this was why:  
  
Louis Tomlinson would never compare to Harry Style's sick, sick lover.


End file.
